


Just Breathe

by the_authors_exploits



Series: Life Multiplied by Love [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Drowning, Gen, bro feels?, inspired by Heavy Rain and ''Press X to Jason''
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14569437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: Jason will live; he has to. Damian will always make sure of that.





	Just Breathe

Damian is the one to answer the call; he’s the only one available, with Grayson, Father, and Drake out on patrol--he himself grounded for not completeing his homework--so when the computer flashes an encrypted coded call, Damian answers.

It’s not so strange to receive encrypted calls, however that the call comes in through the comms--which are only accessible to the Bat sources--is bothersome. Damian ensures to let whoever is calling know.

“This is a private line; whatever your reason, I will need your location, name, and to know how you were able to contact us.” Damian shifts, bringing his legs up on the computer chair and tucking his feet under him; he touches the headset, adjusting the microphone, before leaning close to the computer.

Whoever called, all they do is breathe heavily and Damian’s brows furrow.

“I’m beginning a track on your signal; whether you cooporate or not, we will find you.”

“Th-that’s…” A shuddering breath, as if the person is cold. “That’s good, Dami; that’s real good…”

Pressing the microphone closer, all casual boredness is gone; alarms are going off already, wondering why Jason sounds so cold and weak. Where he is, what he could’ve got himself into; he’s only recently moved out of the manor and, though Damian spends most nights with him, is becoming increasingly independent.

“Jason, what’s happened?” Damian’s hands fly over the keyboard, adding extra speed to the track.

“Just the usual, baby bird.”

“What is that?” A quiet rushing sound is becoming eminent in the background of the comm, and Damian pulls up a map of Gotham. “Is that _water_? Jason?”

“M’in a storm drain.” His teeth are chattering, and Damian can’t tell if it’s the clacking or him gritting his jaw shut that’s making him mumble about like a buffoon. “Was out on patrol and Ivy got the drop’n me; woke up in the storm drain.”

And Gotham is not having a good night; storm clouds have been brewing for days now, finally releasing a terrible torrent on this particular night. Wonderful. Damian pushes away from the computer as it hones in on Jason’s location; he bounds to the Robin suit and stuffs himself into the armor.

“How high is the water?”

Jason coughs; it’s deep in his throat, or maybe his chest, and Damian scampers back to the computer with his mask askew. “High; getting higher.”

“I need details, Jason.” Damian seems to only ever be patient with Jason; well, Titus too but Damian is always patient with animals. He memorizes the address plastered on the computer screen. “Are you standing?”

“Yes.”

Damian hops on the R-cycle, revs the engine, and races out of the cave. “Alright, I’m coming; how high is the water?”

“Uhh…” His voice wavers, and Damian’s back in a worn out apartment the night before Joker fell. “Almost chest.”

Most storm drains in Gotham can fit the height of a man and a half, two men if you try hard enough, complete with a heavy grate that it’s a miracle Ivy was able to lift; Damian takes a turn too sharp and almost loses his balance, just barely keeps himself from crashing to the ground. Rain splatters his helmet. “I’m on the road, Jason.” A thought comes to him. “Why is your comm not recognized by the batcomputer?”

There’s a pause; rain continues to pour, the streetlights passing by too fast. Damian finds he’s holding his breath.

“I...I can’t stop, Damian.” Jason’s voice is growing thick and he gasps the last words out. “I see something wrong and I just snap…”

He’s delicate. “What are you talking about? Jason, what do you mean you snap?”

When he speaks again, his voice is tiny and the gasps are getting worse. “I kill; I thought I could stop, for B-Bruce, but I just...”

Damian stays silent; there’s more to the story, more to dig up and understand, but he’ll deal with the fall out later. Right now, he has to worry about getting his brother, his _friend_ , out of harm’s way. “If the water gets any higher, can you get out?”

A pause filled with sloshing and some grunting; a splash and a curse follow. “No, I don’t think so.” His breathing is growing rapid. “Can’t touch the bottom.”

Damian reaches up and wipes rain from his helmet; quickly, his hand returns to the handlebars. “Hang on, I’m almost there.”

Thank god Gothamites hide away at night; sure, the city never sleeps because the city is crime but the streets are empty. The rain helps too, keeping commuters off the road as the streets flood, and Damian knows his socks are going to be drenched. If he catches cold, Grayson and Father will be on his case even more; he shouldn’t be out at all…

He needs to contact them, but they’re probably busy dealing with Ivy and her chaos; he can handle this trouble. Besides, it’s Jason and Damian doesn’t trust anyone else to help even though logically they can.

A gasp brings Damian back to the streets; he skids around another corner, foot planted to keep his balance, and he kicks off once more. “Jason!”

“It’s fine, ‘m fine!” He sounds strained, the water louder. “Listen, baby bird.” He spits, and Damian comes to the realization that Jason is going to drown. “You’d better not put me back in the Pit.”

“Shut up.” He squeals into the retention center and jumps off the bike, lets it fly across the pavement; there are so many storm drains here, so many overflowing, gigantic puddles everywhere. He rips the helmet off and tosses it aside. “You aren’t going to die!”

He goes running, jumping over grates, looking for any sign of his brother; a red hood, a jacket, a boot, anything to indicate a disturbance.

“Jason, talk to me!”

Off a ways, tucked in the back of the facility, a hand goes limp on a grate; the water is beginning to spill out, any extra airway disappearing from the hole. The hand slips into the darkness, following the heavy body of a choking teenager.

“Jason!” He’s not hysteric; Damian doesn’t do panic, or fear… But he does lie, so he lies and races against time. Checking row after row of water retention grates, slopping through ankle high waters, he finally reaches the back corner.

Jason has long since stopped responding over the comms, leaving Damian no choice but to notice the red helmet placed ever so delicately next to a water logged daisy; directly besides the display is a padlocked grate atop a storm drain, and Damian leaps over a line of piping.

Water splashes as he thuds towards the final grate, reaching down and yanking on the metal lattice; he can just barely make out a figure in the dark, dirty water. He strains, and then fumbles for the padlock; the brain can only survive six minutes without oxygen, and Damian doesn’t know how long it’s been since Jason’s gone under, choked on water, left without oxygen.

There’s not enough time to pick the padlock, not enough time to saw through it with a batarang, barely enough time to--

To shoot it off; and luckily enough, Ivy also set aside Jason’s holsters, .45s and all. Damian scuttles for them in the puddles, hopes they’re still operational, and struggles to tug one out of the holster. Once he gets it loose, he clicks the safety off and easily pops off two shots against the padlock; it gives, enough for Damian to pull it free and toss it aside. The grate is heavy, and Damian is most definitely not short, but it’s still a struggle to toss it open; it’s a struggle to reach into the well and get a firm grip on his brother, on the leather jacket, on a wrist or his arm.

He’s slippery, drenched to the bone, straight through his body armor; Damian fists the jacket and pulls the waterlogged body upwards. He pulls, and Jason comes in sections; his arm, a shoulder, then Damian cradles Jason’s limp head. It would be just their luck for Jason to die from knocking his brains out; finally, blessedly, one final tug has Jason sprawled over Damian on the ground. Rain pounds them and Damian spares but half a second to catch his breath.

He wriggles out from under Jason’s bulk, shoves against his shoulder, and searches for a pulse; there might be one, but it’s too faint to tell, so Damian maneuvers Jason to lie on his back. Placing his right palm over his left hand, he hovers over Jason and presses down, hard; he doesn’t know if there’s enough pressure--he’s definitely not tiny, but Jason is large and getting larger by the day--and starts rocking harder.

“Not-like-this.” He pauses compressions, tests for a pulse and breathing; none, so he clears Jason’s airways and gives a quick breath. Then another, scrambles to straddle Jason’s bulk, and renews the compressions. Still no improvement, so one more breath, and Damian’s vision blurs. “Not after everything!”

More compressions, but there doesn’t seem to be any improvement; Damian’s getting desperate, desperate enough to start beating his fists against Jason’s chest, screaming out obscenities in every language he knows. A pox upon Poison Ivy, rotting roots and dying leaves.

Jason coughs; he rolls over violently and heaves, coughing still, murky water dribbling out his lungs and mouth. Damian slips off him, one hand gripping his shivering shoulder and the other reaching shakily for his comm.

“O,” he calls; his voice is uneven and he realizes he’s shaking, limbs aching. “O, I need a pick up at the retention center.”

_“You’re not supposed to be out, Robin.”_

“It’s complicated.” Jason has stopped clearing his lungs and now he curls in on himself, clearly freezing and shaken, and Damian unclasps his cape; he tucks it around Jason, rubbing his arm to warm him. “Hood needs medical attention.”

There’s a pause before Oracle’s keyboard starts clacking in the background. _“I’ll get you backup; how bad is he?”_

“Like a drenched kitten.”

Jason grumbles from the wet ground, and Damian shushes him.

_“O out.”_

They wait; Jason still catching his breath, Damian his constant protector. Time ticks by slow, and eventually Damian helps Jason limp under an overhang, out of the rain and the thick puddles. They sit huddled there, Jason wrapped around Damian and the youngest Robin glaring out at the storm.

“Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” Jason slurs and Damian reaches up to pinch his cheek.

“How dare you doubt me.” Teasing, soft, but strained all the same; he wasn’t sure he’d make it either.

Jason turns his face against Damian’s hair and breathes shakily. “Thanks, baby bird.”

He may be breathing, but there’s still something very wrong here; many things, such as Jason going off the grid. “We will discuss your encrypted comm later.”

He chuckles, coughs, throat rough and voice sore. “Sure thing…”

On the street, the batmobile can be heard; screeching tires, sloshing in the puddles, the engine roaring as the rain begins to die down. Damian reaches up to scratch through his brother’s hair, matching Batman’s glare as he approaches, remorseless for breaking orders.


End file.
